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S45 M3 
1921 
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The 

—MASTER- 
FISHERMAN 





Class IS^y^Z^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



The Master 
Fisherman 

BY 

Ernest Earle Osgood 




1921 

THE STRATFORD CO., Publishers 

BOSTON 






Copyright, 1922 

The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 

Boston, Mass. 



The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



JAN - ( 3 192? 
^C!.A653669 






©education 



DO YOU REMEMBER THE OLD ART CLUB OP 
RICHMOND AND WHAT DELIGHTFUL TIMES WE 
USED TO HAVE THERE TOGETHER? I WOULD 
LIKE TO DEDICATE THE FOLLOWING LINES IN 
GRATITUDE TO ITS MEMORY. 

Wf)t &utf)or 



Foreword 

THE bond between religion and poetry is im- 
memorial. Hardly had language been in- 
vented, anthropology tells us, before it was put 
to rhythmic uses; and these earliest rhythms 
were not only employed in, but directly born of, 
the celebrations and festivals of worship. "When 
we first catch sight of man, dimly emerging 
from the prehistoric mist, the adorational song 
is firmly established among his scanty posses- 
sions. To our modern sense, indeed, those primi- 
tive dithyrambs might suggest little of either 
religion or poetry; yet they were both, and they 
stand to prove, as I should suppose, an intuitive 
recognition of a relation between the two forms 
of ideal beauty — a relation so close in some 
directions as to become, in truth, a partial 
identity. However, lest that stretches a doubt- 
ful "little learning" too far, we may at least 
view this ancient bond as the inescapable tie 
between matter and manner, the instinctive ful- 
fillment of meaning in form. The coarsest 
cement does for a street to walk upon, but the 



FOREWORD 

sculptor turns naturally to marble ; and beauti- 
ful thought will tend to find a beautiful expres- 
sion, as water seeks its own level. Since reli- 
gious feeling is the most idealistic of the long- 
ings of men, and — with love, with which again 
it has so close a connection — the most deeply 
charged with emotion, it has inevitably and per- 
sistently flowered in poetry, the most passion- 
ate and beautiful of literary forms. 

I think the records of our own religion, like 
the history of poetry, fully support these simple 
reflections. It would not indeed do to say that 
no man has a great faculty for God without 
being in some degree a poet; yet the union of 
gifts is frequent. In the oldest literature that 
is familiar to most of our readers, the Old Testa- 
ment, lyrical passages of great beauty abound. 
The Book of Psalms, which will come first to 
everyone's mind, is the true forerunner of the 
hymn-book; and Psalms is a volume of poems 
in precisely the contemporary sense. There was 
a time, I remember, when this thought was a 
little disconcerting to me; having learned to 
think of the Psalms purely and unimaginatively 
as "religion," as the Bible, I was as a boy 
slightly disturbed to hear them spoken of as 

ii 



FOREWORD 

"poetry," which seemed somehow to make 
them at once secular and fabulous. The point 
of view has no merit for me now. I rejoice in 
the fine recurring phrase, "the beauty of holi- 
ness," where the pure theologian would have 
been concerned only with rectitude or duty; 
and it is clear that David's genius for adoration 
has only been enriched, vastly enriched for us 
as well as for himself, by his great power of 
song. And the Psalmist, of course, has but 
linked himself with a mighty tradition — intui- 
tive, literary and religious at once — which even 
then had long been lucidly defined and which 
after him was to have many holy exemplars, in- 
cluding one more illustrious than David. While 
the pure lyrical form is unsuited to the teacher, 
assuredly it is by no chance that the Master 
Fisherman, scattering his sayings freely to all 
who stayed to listen, left to literature many 
passages which are of the true essence of poetry. 
Having a lovely teaching, he gave it a form of 
surpassing loveliness. The fact seems to me sig- 
nificant and, for our present purposes, profound. 
Masses of people, I take it, are not stirred by 
the cold abstractions of truth, however personal 
to their lives and dreams, and the incalculable 

iii 



FOREWORD 

dominion that the Founder of our religion has 
exercised in the kingdom of the heart, while 
temporal empires have risen and fallen, has 
surely been due in some part to the moving 
beauty of his recorded sayings. Christ was 
himself the first Christian poet; and here, too, 
he has had many followers among the faithful. 
To this immemorial tradition, and to the 
great body of Christian song, the little volume 
before us joins itself in the simplest fashion. 
Embarking upon the "lyric Galilee" — to bor- 
row his own apt phrase — the new singer ex- 
hibits, first and foremost, a winning absence of 
all pretentiousness. His opening lines are in 
themselves an express disclaimer; and this 
modesty — not the universal characteristic of 
poets, perhaps — is here a continuing note, 
genuine and deep, and carrying its own charm. 
It is the same temper, too, which discloses itself 
in the general simplicity of design and material : 
though this indeed is a simplicity which is 
conscious of itself, which allows full scope of 
vigor and beauty of expression and which is, in 
a word, of the sort that so often marks authentic 
poesy. Thus, in the title poem, "The Master 
Fisherman, ' ' we find this natural unpretentious- 

iv 



FOREWORD 

ness shot through with true passion, resulting 
in singing lines of pure simplicity — 

Master, dost thou go fishing with me 
Out on the waters of Galilee — 

Or take a verse such as this, from the Epilogue, 
where music is wrought from the commonest 
and most familiar words : 

The cattle on a thousand hills, 

The gold within the mine, 
The pearl hid in the ocean's depth, 

All, all, Lord, are thine. 

Examples could be multiplied, for the note, as 
I say, is characteristic. At the same time this is 
no harp with but a single string; and the poet 
has, in fact, succeeded in covering, in a small 
compass, a quite considerable range. Relatively 
few in number as are the verses collected here, 
we find them running in mood and thesis from 
the lightness of ''Practical Advice to a Friend" 
to the controlled intensity of "Un Homme 
Qu'est II!" — from the quiet reflectiveness of 
"Prophet and Priest" to the narrative idealism 
of ' ' Gottlieb ; ' ' from the evangelical exhorta- 
tion of ' ■ The Seventy ' ' to the self-searching cry 
of ''The Soul's Catechism" — 



FOREWORD 

Have you walked with God by the seashore ? 

Have you walked with Him in the grove ? 
Have you walked with Him through the vale of 
tears 

And the transfigured mount of His love? 

And this welcome variety of mood, it should 
be said, is amply carried out and objectified in 
the varied metrification here exhibited. Far 
from clinging to the simple quatrain or couplet, 
the singer has touched "the stops of various 
quills." In the lines from the proposed drama, 
"Julian the Apostate," he has successfully ex- 
perimented with the stately and sonorous ca- 
dence; in "A Hymn" — one of the best poems 
in the book in my opinion — he has used a short- 
line rhymed form, involving many difficulties, 
with much effectiveness; in "Un Homme" again 
he has called upon a rapid free-verse permitting 
him to rise easily to a ringing climax — 

"These dead, these dead shall not have died in 

vain. 
They are not dead ! 

These, these are they that live, were dead, 
And now, behold, they are alive 
Forevermore ! Amen ! 

However, the reader, in making the acquaint- 
ance of these songs and hymns for himself, will 

vi 



FOREWORD 

soon discover that Mr. Osgood, whatever his 
subject or his lyrical form, seldom strays from 
the essential source of his inspiration, which 
lies, as I have said, firmly embedded in the 
great orthodox tradition. He may strike his 
harp to many a note, but the note of doubt, of 
pessimism or negation, is never among them. 
With the light of an unwavering faith, with a 
vision big enough to consider the cosmos ("that 
ocean of Spirit that encircles the systems 
about"), with a particularity which yet can 
draw a lesson from the morning-glory and the 
cornstalk, with vigor and clarity and with a 
genuine devotional ecstasy, the poet has voiced 
afresh the common longings of the mighty 
Christian family. Nor can it be doubted that 
songs so felt and sung will always have a power 
over the hearts of the sons of men. 

HENRY SYDNOR HARRISON. 



vn 



Contents 



Aspiration . 

Compensation 

Todes-Braut 

Un Homme Qu 'est II? 

My Heart and Thine 

One Rainy Day . 

Practical Advice to A Friend 

Complaint of a Would-be Poet 

Prophet and Priest 

The Church Gates 

A Hymn .... 

Lines for a Proposed Drama 

Maecenas .... 

Gottlieb — A Christmas Idyll 

The Soul's Catechism . 

Lines "Written on the Fifty-sixth Anni 

versary of the Consecration of 

Emmanuel Church 



1 
2 

3 
6 
9 
10 
13 
14 
16 
17 
18 
23 
26 
32 
37 



38 



CONTENTS 



Prologue and Epilogue to a 
Religious Pageant 

The Seventy 

Strength and Beauty . 

Environment 

The Master-Fisherman 



41 
43 
45 
46 

47 



Illustrations 

The Old Art Club . . . Frontispiece 
The Church Gates . . . Opp. Page 17 
Emmanuel Church, Brook Hill, Va. Page 38 



Aspiration 

I LOVE the heights I cannot reach, 
I love the truth I cannot preach, 
I love the song I cannot sing, 
I love the joy I cannot bring. 

For heights some foot persistent reached, 
For truth some prophet-soul has preached, 
For notes some minstrel-heart has raised 
And joy revealed, O God be praised ! 

Heights glacial though I may not scale, 
Dwelling within life's shadowed vale, 
Drinking from low-descending brook, 
Yet to the heights I still will look! 



N 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Compensation 

FROM early youth the poet sang 
Until his white-haired age. 
His song was but the rhythmed truth, 
Which breathed through every page. 

Full cheerily he sang at noon, 
At eve and brightening morn ; 

He sang amid the motley crowd 
Of joyous and forlorn. 

Yet no one stopped to grasp his hand 

Or praise his lyric lays. 
Men quarreled still and women wept 

And children plied their plays. 

Heart-sore with grief, the poet died 
And sought the heavenly throng. 

But when he reached the streets of gold, 
An angel sang his song. 



[2] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Todes - Brau t 

THE day was ending. Shone the sun's last 
rays 
On pictured tapestries and gilded walls. 
Amid the radiant splendor, like a flower 
In luxury's rich soil, a fair young woman sat 
Upon a throne, wearing a crown bright-jeweled. 
Broad were the lands o 'er which her golden wand 
Of royalty extended. 

Softly came 
A youth of noble brow and gracious mien 
And knelt before her throne. 

"Oh, who art thou?" 
The young queen asked, as out to him she 

stretched 
Her sceptre, touching which he rose and ans- 
wered, 
"Over empires vastlier great than thine I rule. 
Far in the Shadow-land they lie, and, lo, 
My subjects number more by far than all 

[3] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

The peoples of this earthly sphere. And now, 
Fair child, say, Wilt thou be my queen ? ' ' 

His words, 
So magnet-like, drew her pure soul to his, 
And from her heart's deep depths she ans- 
wered, "I 
Am thine." 

' ' To-morrow, then, at sunset hour 
I will return to make thee mine for aye, ' ' 
He said, and vanished on the wings of night. 

Then through her capital the queen sent forth 

Her heralds, to proclaim a festal for 

The morrow at the royal palace-halls. 

Half -hour ere sunset glow came nobles, knights 

And ladies fair unto the bridal feast. 

And when the queen entered her stately halls 

Led by young children, who encarpeted 

Her feet with lilies white, the throng exclaimed, 

"She is the fairest lily of them all!" 

And when she climbed her flower-decked throne, 

all bowed 
The knee and cried, "0 may thy life bloom in 
The garden of Eternity ! ' ' 

[4] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

But when 
The sun began to gild the western gates, 
A muffled stillness came o'er all, and the pale 
Queen's soul rose trembling, waiting for its lord 
To come. 

Still as the all-haloing sunset beams, 
Coming no man knew whence, the king 

approached, 
Ensplendored with his royal wedding robes. 
And when the throng beheld his godlike form, 
Then saw the fair pale waiting queen, bethought 
Each heart, "To-day true Nobleness doth wed 
Fair Beauty's self!" 

In accents soft he said, 
"I claim thee, Queen, for bride. Fate shall our 

priest 
Be, and Eternity our palace-halls." 
Her lips, soft as the petals of the tenderest 

flower, 
Unto his own he drew. But oh ! his lips 
Were icy cold. He vanished from their view. 
The Queen fell lifeless on the floor, and then 
O'er all descended dark sepulchral silence. 
Her soul forth with its lord had gone ; for, ]o, 
She was the Bride of— DEATH! 

[5] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Un Homme Qu'est II? 



a i 



What is a man?' a common soldier asked 
her one day on the beach." From "You No 
Longer Count/' by Rene Boylesve. 

I 

WHAT is a man ? 
— These myriad wounded hands, 
These countless mangled bodies, 
These limbless stumps — 
What is a man ? 

What is a man? 

— These shock-wrecked sensitive nerves, 
These gas-shelled writhing forms, 
These desecrated human shrines — 
What is a man? 

What is a man? 

-- Torn from his home at country's call, 
Thrust to the front at Duty's stern command, 
And there 

[6] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

One microscopic victim in Earth's mighty 

hecatomb — 
What is a man ? 



II 

What is a man ? 

Like untombed Lazarus, 

These limbless ones, — called back to life, — 

Rearmed, shall till again the war-ploughed fields 

of France 
And make hell's desert blossom as the rose. 

What is a man ? 

These shell-shocked hosts, 

With nerves restrung and minds revisioned, 

Backward again shall hurl the tyrant hordes, 

Again send forth Freedom's un vanquished cry, 

1 ' They shall not pass!" 

What is a man? 

Enriched by sacrificial blood, 

Freedom's fair flower brightly shall bloom again, 

And in the face of Earth 's each new-born babe, 

Taking large breaths in Liberty's pure air, 

The heroic features of the martyred dead 

Shall gleam with resurrected and engloried life. 

[7] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

What is a man ? 

The earth made new by these, 

Freedom world-throned, 

Creative Peace restored, 

These dead, these dead shall not have died in 

vain. 
They are not dead ! 

These, these are they that live, were dead, 
And now, behold, they are alive 
Forevermore ! Amen ! 



[8] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



My Heart and Thine 

MY heart and thine 
Doth Love entwine 
With cords no man can break. 
My love for thee, 
Thy love for me 
Hell's power nor earth's can shake. 

Though far from me, 

I am with thee 
In angel-faith's repose. 

Love spans all time, 

And finds each clime 
Where the Beloved goes. 

Thy trust in me 

And mine in thee 
Becalms Life's stressfulness. 

Love heals each pain, 

Gives bliss again. 
Earth's joys! can Heaven's be less? 



M 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



One Rainy Day 

A RAINY day ! a useless day ! 
Black clouds hide heaven's blue, 
And whelm my heart in depthless gloom. 
Ah me ! what shall I do ? 

There is an ancient sepulchre, 

Removed from haunts of care ; 
Old books, chairs, pictures here abound. 

I '11 climb the attic stair ! 

Lo, like a battlemented wall, 

Tall tiers of many a tome 
Frown down on my unarmored heart ; 

From gloom to gloom I come. 

I seat me in a broken chair 

Of ancient carved grace, 
And from the volumes' dusty backs 

The names I slowly trace. 

Old Baxter's "Saints," Law's "Serious Call, 
And Edwards' thundering word, 

[10] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Burton's Black Bile's "Anatomy" 
Shafts for my heart afford. 

Yet one old parchment back I spy, 

Whose titled gilt doth part 
Its clouds of ancient dust, and shines 

Upon my rain-beat heart. 

Upon this solemn wall of tomes 

I make a sudden breach, 
While for Old England's Sacred Songs 

Ail-eagerly I reach. 

Here in this lyric Galilee 

I sink my net and strive 
Some strengthening food for me to find 

And keep my soul alive. 

Lo, from these depths of rhythmic praise 
What soulful wealth I drew — 

So rich I feared my net would break, 
Shared not my neighbor, too. 

Of lands where Peace smile-crowned sits, 

Where roses aye endure, 
Where One who never changes reigns — 

"Thy God, thy life, thy cure," 

[«] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

I read, and then of Praise to God 
'Mid fertile fields and bare, 

For blessings rich, and joys withheld, 
If God's love still was there. 

I read of Stoic's chainless soul 
"With courage to endure," 

How God's own purpose ripens fast, 
"Unfolding every hour." 

I found again the cosmic peace 
'Neath wormwood and the gall — 

Heaven-centred faith, Lord, that ' ' if 
I slip, Thou dost not fall." 

Then down to earth I came again, 
Armed for life 's battle-fray, 

Thankful for Hope 's hid waiting words 
I found that rainy day. 



["] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Practical Advice to a Friend on Lending 
a Book 

O'ER the book you lent 
Days and nights I spent 
With interest ever enhancing. 
And I laughed and wept, 
My heart stopped and leapt 
At episodes so entrancing. 

On its style and strength 

You discoursed at length 
With such extravagant rages ! 

But next book, my friend, 

Ere you recommend, 
Remember to cut the pages. 



[i3] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Complaint of a Would-be Poet 

{Respectfully dedicated to the Editor's Waste- 
basket.) 

O EDITOR, Editor, 
Cruel, steel-hearted man of affairs ! 
I have sent to you my duly rhymed and 

rhymthed outpourings, 
And you have sent them back with that black, 

funereal, crepy message, 
1 ' Thanks, but untimely, unavailable. ' ' 

Yes, the crepe you hung upon my heart 's fervent 

effusions 
Was black, cold, hopeless, dead. 
When one dies to this world in these new days 

of earth, 
The thoughtful undertaker covers the bell-button 

with a white fair-streaming ribbon, 
So friends may know that, while within 
Lies the dead, 

Yet there nutters outward on heaven's breezes 
The white-pure hope of Immortality, — the friend, 
Dead here, lives yonder there. 

[14] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Or else, palm leaves are hung at the front door, 
To show that though all 's death and defeat here, 
Victory and Life are beyond and above ! 

But you, unsensitive critic, send back 

My murdered poetizings 

Without one smallest ribbon of hope 

Or one scant palm leaflet of potential triumph. 

The poetic bark, launched upon seas of literary 

adventure, 
Is hurled back upon the shores of my expectant 

heart — 
A broken, a useless, a stranded thing — 
And the monster storm-billows thunder their 

cold notes diapasononic, 
* ' Thanks, but untimely, unavailable ! ' ' 



['5] 



w 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Prophet and Priest 

HAT is a prophet, say, and what a priest ? 



A prophet pioneers in virgin lands 

Of trnth. He knows God's Promised Land 

Awaits his willing feet ; he enters in, 

Partakes its luscious fruit, a portion bears 

To his impatient brethren, waiting there 

On Jordan 's farther marge. He sees the visions, 

And reveals to those whose eyes see not and 

hearts 
Are gross with earth. 

The priest those truths receives 
And of them makes a holy sacrament, 
To feed the sinful, starving souls of men. 



[16] 



o 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



The Church Gates 

CROSSES, pointing ever to the sky, 

To greet the hasting, thoughtless passerby ! 



To those with wordly pleasures onward driven, 
Ye one brief moment point the path to heaven: 

Prepare who pass between your outstretched 

arms 
To fervent join in prayers and hymns and 

Psalms, 

With thanks and praise God's earthly courts to' 

tread, 
With reverent hearts to eat the Living Bread. 

And thus, like rugged prophets of the soul, 
Ye point men ever to the Heavenly Goal. 



[ J 7] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



A Hymn 

(Supposed to be sung by Christians on Good Friday, in 
a proposed drama to be entitled "Julian the Apostate.") 



ON a tree 
Though He be 
Nailed and crucified, 
In three days 
God shall raise 
Jesus glorified. 

2 

Soldiers jibe, 

Priests deride, 
' ' Temple-builder, Lord, 

Leave Thy cross, 

Come to us, 
"We '11 believe Thy word. 

3 
Yet there fall 
Over all 
That confused din 

[18] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

"Words sublime 
All-divine, 
" Father, heal their sin." 

4 

By His side 

Crucified 
Two thieves. One said thus : 

"Art indeed 

God's own breed? 
Save Thyself and us ! " 

5 

But one cries, 

"This man dies 
Pure and innocent. 

Silence, thief ! 

We receive 
Our just punishment. ' ' 

6 

Spake that one 

To God's Son 
Words ail-pleadingly, 

' ' When Thou 'rt come 

To Thy home, 
Lord, remember me. ' ' 

[19] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

7 

Then that thief 

Sweet relief 
Heard from lips divine, 

' ' Lo, I say 

That to-day 
Paradise is thine!" 

8 

Standeth there 

Mary fair, 
Weeping for her child. 

What a dart 

Pierced thy heart, 
Holy Mother mild ! 

9 

To her cries 

Christ replies 
Oh ! how tenderly ! 

' ' In loved John 

See thy son ; 
John, thy mother see. ' ' 

10 

With what groans 
— Suffering tones — 

[20] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

From the tree accurst, 

Anguishing, 

Languishing, 
Hear Him cry, ' ' I thirst ' ' ! 

11 

From our Lord 

Then they heard 
Sorrow's agony. 

' ' God above, 

King of love, 
Why f orsakest me?" 

12 

Cries God's Son, 

"All is done! 
Death is dead ! My soul, 

Father mine, 

I resign 
To Thy blest control." 

13 
Darkly fall 
Over all 
Piercing clouds of gloom, 
Rent the veil, 

[ 2I ] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

And the pale 
Dead rise from the Tomb. 

14 

On a tree 

Though He be 
Nailed and crucified, 

In three days 

God shall raise 
Jesus glorified. 



[22] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Lines for a Proposed Drama, to be entitled 
"Julian the Apostate" 

(The following words are supposed to be spoken by- 
Julian, on entering Constantinople as Emperor, at the 
death of his cousin, the Emperor Constantius, which oc- 
curred December 11th, A. D., 361.) 

NO longer chained am I by modern creeds, 
No longer forced to press the garment's 
hem 
Of that rude Galilean Carpenter, — 
That peasant God, who at His crimsoned cross 
In bloated bombast bows the nations down. 
"What blasphemy ! 

Down Galilean Christ ! 
And up forevermore Olympian Zeus ! 
Lo, Saturn's golden age once more returns, 
And reigns again Religion's ancient grace, 
"While 'mid the temple's pillared loveliness 
Shall perfumed incense wafted be to heaven. 
Once more shall altars reek with hecatombs, 
Oblations rich again outpoured be, 
Devotion lift restrengthened hands to heaven, 
And gods with men shall deign anew to dwell. 

[23] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Once more the white-robed train shall offer up 
Their virgin beauty to heaven 's Virgin Queen. 
The gentle dryads shall encastled be 
In groves, and fair-limbed nymphs shall seek 

again 
All- joy fully their watery palace-halls. 
Eleusis' mystic rites shall be renewed, 
And bacchanals shall dance in frenzied grace. 
On Zion 's hilltop shall the springs be dried, 
While from Parnassus' heights shall rill again 
The rhythmic harmonies of heavenly song. 
Down Galilean ! Up Olympian ! 

Refrain by the Imperial Train. 
Down with the Staff of the Shepherd ! 
Up with the aegis of Zeus ! 
Falleth the cross of the Carpenter-God, 
When Jove lets his thunderbolts loose ! 

(The following lines are supposed to be uttered by the 
Emperor Julian, after he received a mortal wound, in 
his Persian campaign, before the walls of Ctesiphon, June 
26th, A. D., 363.) 

Who is that white-robed Figure yonder there? 
He beareth in His hand a shepherd's staff. 
Nail-pierced is that hand. Those wondrous looks 
Of love condemn me more than sternest judge. 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

I, who would proudly bring the world again 
To thunder- wielding Zeus, am hurled to hell 
By that sweet-smiling face ! 

Thou hast triumphed, 
Thou lowly Nazarene ! 

(Throws dust into the air and falls dead.) 



[*S] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Maecenas 

(A Poem for Class Day, Bates College, 1892.) 

Scene : Palace of Maecenas, Esquiline Hill, Rome, 
Time: 8 B. C. 

Maecenas : 

My heart is chilled with gloom to-day. I would 
Horatius from his Sabine Farm were here, 
To melt this gloom with his own heart's fiery 
glow. 

(Enter Slave) 
Slave : 

My Lord, thy poet-friend, Horatins, stands 
Without. And shall I bid him enter ? 

Maecenas : 

Yes! 
'Tis a welcome hour that from his country villa 
Sent him hither ! Go, bid him enter, haste ! 

(Exit Slave 

[*] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

{Enter Horace) 
Maecenas : 

Welcome, heart 's friend ! Methought that thou 

wast out 
Of Rome to-day. 

Horace : 

And so I was this morn, 
But business brought me hither at an early 

hour. 
Thou seemest sad, my patron-friend, to-day. 
I would that I might drive thy gloom away. 

Maecenas : 

Yes, Horace, I am sad. Lo, I have sought 
Pleasure continually, yet have found none. 
Long have I wandered by light-hearted brook- 
lets, 
By murmuring rivers, thundering water-falls, 
Looked upon the jeweled stars above me, 
Lingered 'mid the smiling flowers around me, 
Sought the arena's bloody shows, the theatre's 

charms, 
And tried to drown my gloom in floods of wine. 
My heart is like the heart of Psyche. Lo, 
From shrine to shrine I pass, a comforting 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Dear Love-god to behold, yet find him not. 
Girt round with pleasures, still I have no joy. 
Is Joy some distant palace, whose golden doors 
Will never ope to me ? 'Tis the sad thought 
Grim death brings an eternal nothingness 
That, like a chilling glacier, stiffly flows 
Over my heart's fair flowers and kills them all. 

Horace : 

Despair not, friend. thou, who Atlas-like 

Upheld 'st the mighty Roman Empire with 

Thy giant mind, hast nobler fate than this ! 

I once, as thou, was Epicurean, 

Then Stoic, now am neither Stoic nor 

An Epicure, but Stoic-Epicure. 

I hate the hollow-hearted Stoic creed, 

Which makes of life and beauty one great pyre 

On which to burn the soul in agony, 

Thinking the dross will sink to ashes, while 

The pure will rise to heaven 's court. Nor yet 

Doth Epicurus soothe alone my soul ; 

For he calls life one great gay banquet-hall, 

Nor lets the soul be solemn for a while. 

Neither is good enough for man alone. 

I 'd take the best of both and blend in one. 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Maecenas : 

Well dost thou say, Horace. Thou dost have 

Simplicity. For it I first began 

To love thee. But these chilling pains that 

through 
My limbs rush whisper, Death — the eagle 

grim — 
Will soon swoop down and seize upon his prey. 
Oh ! What is Death ? Say, is there a Beyond ? 
Oh that thy loving heart might go with me 
Over death 's briery road and lead me on 
To an eternal home, and I, like thee, 
Might hope in gods and immortality ! 

Horace : 

And oh that I might lead thee to that hope ! 

Trust in the gods to give thee peace. 

We need heaven's spirit in our hearts to make 

Earth's beauties luminous. Our souls, bereft 

Of Deity, are like the spark, which soon 

Doth lose its radiance when sundered from 

The flame. But we, when joined to the Divine, 

Help light the darkness of a sorrowing world. 

Over the billowy seas of doubt I, too, 

Have sailed, I heard the Sirens ' luring voice 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

And would have been their victim, but, praise 

Jove! 
I heard Orpheus' diviner music. Then 
Their power was gone, and I was henceforth 

safe. 

Maecenas, there is an Immortality ! 

Once when I stood on Mediterranean's shore, 

Doubting if there be Immortality, 

I saw a heron from the water rise 

And higher soar till lost in distant sky. 

Then cried my heart, "0 bird, the soul's like 

thee ! 
It, too, shall rise out of earth 's ocean blue 
Into heaven 's airy blue and be forever part 
Of Deity ! " The warlike Marius 
'Mid Punic ashes longs for distant Rome. 
And so our souls, unsatisfied, sit 'mid 
Life's ruined battlements, yet ever long 
To rise and mingle with the joys of heaven. 

Thou say'st thou canst not trust in gods. Dost 

thou 
Remember at Philippi, when the force 
Of Brutus fled before Octavius ' band, 
How I fled, leaving e'en my shield behind ? 
So flees he shieldless from life's battle-ground 

[30] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Who faith reposes not in gods above. 
Barren were Egypt if the sacred Nile 
Did not o 'erflow its banks and raise its crops 
To life. Barren the heart unless belief 
In Deity flow o'er it, watering 
The rootlets of its flowers and raising them 
To beauty and to hope. To thee, my friend, 
The gods such blessed comfort long to send. 

Maecenas : 

Horace, I must, I will, I do believe thy words. 
They heal my heart, deep wounded by the 

spear 
Of doubt. Oh ! when a child I trusted heaven. 
Thy words that childlike faith to me have 
given. 

Horace : 

Praised be the gods! And though that thou 

must leave 
Me for a while my heart doth weep, yet in 
Its teardrops gleams the light of joy ; for I 
Shall soon be by thy side again, and we 
Shall walk together through the halls of 

heaven. 
Like children to their mother, we shall be 
Clasped to the bosom of Eternity ! 

[3i] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Gottlieb — A Christmas Idyll 

I 

IT was Saturday night. 
Fritz and Martha — old people — 
Were returning from the valley hamlet to their 

cottage on the mountain side. 
As the moon illumined the night about them, 
Fritz saw in the distance something brightly 

glistening, 
And heard a low sad moan. 
"Let us go to it," said Fritz. 
Hastening their steps, 
They found a tender babe lying amid the white 

snow, 
Alone, clad in robes right princely 
And wearing a chain of gleaming gold around his 

neck. 
' ' Whose child can he be ? 
He will freeze lying there, poor thing ! 
Martha, we must take him home with us. 
And, if his parents be not found, 
He shall be our son, humble though we be. ' ' 

[32] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

II 

It was Christmas Day. 

Fritz and Martha sat in Church, 

And the Child cooed softly between them. 

They were old people — very old. 

God had never blessed them with a child. 

But now, 

As the sun shone through the pictured window of 
the Blessed Mother and her Child, 

The priest read, ' ' Unto us a son is given. ' ' 

Fritz bowed his head, and Martha crossed her- 
self. 

Ill 
Daily Fritz went to the mines and labored long 

and hard 
To earn for himself and Martha and the Child, 
Gottlieb — Gottes Liebe — God's Love — they called 

Him, 
"Because," said Fritz, "It was God's love that 

gave Him to us." 
In the cottage 
Martha's rough hands spun soft garments for 

the Child, 
And as her back bent over the hoe in the garden, 
She would hear the Child's joyous voice in His 

play with other children. 

[33] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Yet His was always clearer, sweeter than the 

rest. 
The children loved Him — oh ! so dearly ! 
Yet ever were they a bit afraid of Him. 
One day in childish glee 
They twined a garland of flowers and placed it on 

His head 
And called Him "their little King." 

IV 
Fritz and Martha lived on — wondronsly old. 
Fritz could no longer go to the mines. 
Yet every morning Gottlieb shouldered His pick 
And went alone. 
Silently all day long — 
Away from the light and the fresh mountain 

breezes — 
He delved, down deep in the mine. 
But, though He toiled amid the darkness and the 

grime, 
His garments were never soiled. 
And when He came to the cottage at night, 
His face was always radiant as the sun, 
And His hands were white, like the snow 
Which cradled Him that night when Fritz and 

Martha first found Him. 

[34] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

V 

''Prepare ye for the King, 

Who comes from His distant capital on a great 

mission ! 
Let everyone be ready to receive Him/' 
Thus proclaimed the herald in the hamlet below 
And in each cottage on the mountain side. 
Daily at early morn Gottlieb went to the mines. 
But as He went, He whispered to Himself, 
"Would I could see the King!" 

VI 

Brightly gleamed in the morning sun 

The armored hosts of the King, 

And proudly floated the bannered royal lions on 

the breeze. 
His Majesty the King approached each cottage, 
Entered, eagerly looked around, 
Then, seemingly unsatisfied with His quest, 

passed on. 
The royal procession wound down the mountain 

side 
And halted before the mines. 
Each laborer was bidden to pass before the King. 
' ' And are these all ? " His Majesty demanded. 
"All — save one," was the reply — One 

[35] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Who was toiling far down in the heart of the 

earth, 
Toiling alone patiently and ceaselessly 
For those beloved at home. 
"Him I must see," said the King. 
Gottlieb was summoned and silently stood before 

His Majesty. 
"Tis He!" exclaimed the King. 
"Thou art My Son!" 



[36] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



The Soul's Catechism 

HAVE you walked with God by the seashore ? 
Have you walked with Him in the grove ? 
Have you walked with Him through the vale of 
tears 
And the transfigured mount of His love ? 

Soul of mine ! Eternity's image ! 

Child beloved of the Infinite Good ! 
Know you not that His spirit lives in you 

And above you His love-soul doth brood ? 

His spirit thrills yonder frail grass blade, 

He lives in the delicate fern, 
He haloes the brow of the Christ-Child, 

While for Him the soul prodigal yearns. 

Soul of mine ! be at one with the All-Soul. 

Never dare let the sandbars of doubt 
Cut thee off from that ocean of Spirit 

That encircles the systems about. 

[27] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Lines Written on the Fifty-Sixth Anniver- 
sary of the Consecration of Em- 
manuel Church 

I 

SIX years and fifty now have passed 
Since from the aisle of yon church fair 
The Bishop and the surpliced priests 
Ascended to the altar stair. 

Upon the listeners' eager ears, 

In rhythmic alternations fell 
The Psalmist 's words, ' ' The earth is God 's, 

The world and all that therein dwell. ' ' 

The congregation, choir and priests 
Joined in triumphant glad acclaim, 

That God had moved generous hearts 
To rear this temple to His name. 

How earth reached heaven by mystic rounds, 
Perchance one lesson taught that day, 

And one how men mount up to God 

Through Christ, ' ' the new and living way. ' ' 

[38] 




Emmanuel Church, Brook Hill, Va. 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Through fervent prayers and hymns of praise, 
Christ's body's and blood's Sacrament, 

Near to God 's Throne the people drew, 
Thankful, devout and penitent. 

The Bishop's blessing given, the throng 
Unto their homes forthwith repair, 

Thankful this holy place was theirs 

For worship, praise, alms-giving, prayer . 

II 

Hid 'midst the trees from thoughtless gaze, 

Church of the living God, 
More than a cycle's half, its aisles 

Sinners and saints have trod. 

Here with the font 's baptismal vows 
The priest Christ's lambs has sealed, 

And at the chancel-rail those vows 
By them have been fulfilled. 

Before the altar youth and maid 
Have pledged their wedded love ; 

Here sorrowing hearts have looked anew 
In hope to heaven above. 

[39] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Anointed prophets here have preached 

God 's Holy Word and true, 
And children here their duties learn 

To God and neighbor, too. 

sacred shrine, Emmanuel ! 

God with us ever be ! 
That we Christ 's soldiers e 'er may prove, 

And serve Him faithfully. 

Thy graceful spire amid the trees 

To heaven points constantly, 
Teaching us, too, our hearts to raise, 

From sin and sorrow free. 



[40] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Prologue and Epilogue to a Religious Pa- 
geant, entitled "The Modern Magi," 
written by the Author's Wife 

Prologue. 

TIRED of their old philosophies, 
Behold the nations blindly grope. 
Oh ! who will show to them the way 
Of larger life, of ampler hope ? 

The nations bow with sorrow down, 

Greed clashes with fierce Envy's scorn. 

For ashes who will beauty give, 
The oil of joy for those who mourn ? 

Persistent in their quest, press on 
The nations hungering in the night. 

Who'll feed them with the Bread of Life? 
Who'll lead them upward to the Light ? 

The old Commands on Olivet, 

"Preach, Teach, Baptize," to us descend, 
The ancient Promise still is ours, 

"I'm with you to the world 's far end. ' ' 

[4i] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Then point men to the Lamb of God, 
And raise the all-sufficient Cross. 

Give light for darkness, peace for strife, 
And righteous gold for sinful dross. 

Epilogue. 
The cattle on a thousand hills, 

The gold within the mine, 
The pearl hid in the ocean's depths, — 

All, all, Lord, are Thine. 

Receiving freely, we would give 

Freely for those who plea ; 
For all things come of Thee, Lord ; 

Thine own we give to Thee. 

God, we think Thy thoughts with Thee, 

With Thee we labor, too. 
We give with Thee, Christ, who gav'st 

To make all things anew. 

Thy poverty has made us rich, 

Our wealth to Thee we give. 
Thou died 'st for all the world, and we 

For all the world would live. 



[42] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



The Seventy 



(The late Bishop McVickar, of Rhode Island, once re- 
marked that he liked to think of the Seventy, appointed 
by Jesus, not as little priestlings, but as consecrated 
laymen sent forth to do their Master's bidding. The 
following lines are dedicated to the Episcopal Church 
laymen of Richmond, who have been actively engaged 
in serving pastorless congregations in the surrounding 
country.) 



OF old the Seventy at their Lord 's command 
In towns and hamlets went throughout the 
land, 
The sick to heal, the dead to life restore, 
The lepers cleanse, and preach the Heavenly Lore, 
Assured Christ soon would be at their right hand. 

Again Christ sends His Seventy two and two 
Through town and village where Himself would 

go. 
Say, hast thou heard His call ? What hast thou 

done ? 
Of His bold ready Seventy art thou one ? 
As God hath sent Him would He send thee so ! 



[43] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Go forth, my brother, with divine decrees, 
Fulfil thy mission, and ere thou shalt cease, 
Upon the heights of life ? s fair Galilee 
The beauteous feet of Him, hasting, thou 'It see 
That brings Good Tidings and that heralds 
Peace ! 



[44] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Strength and Beauty 

IN prideful strength a stalk of corn 
Arose to greet the brightening morn. 

A morning glory raised her head 
"Pray, let me lean on yon!" she said. 

"No!" said the corn, "a useless flower 
Shall not usurp my glorious power." 

Replied the flower, " If by your side 
I grow, your power is not denied. 

Lend of your strength to me a bit, 
My beauty shall enhalo it." 

And so in stable beauty grew 
Corn-stalk and Morning Glory, too. 

A poet passed that way and said, 
"Behold how Strength and Beauty wed!" 



[45] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



Environment 

I PLUCKED a white-fair lily 
From a plot where rank weeds grew. 
A friend asked, "Why take a flower 
"Where ugly weeds grow, too ? ' ' 

I said, ' ' Though rank and ugly be 
The weeds the plot may fill, 
Not for the weeds I pluck ; 
The flower is God's own still." 



[46] 



M 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 



The Master - Fisherman 

ASTER, dost Thou go fishing with me 
Out on the waters of Galilee ? 



Fishing to me is sport right dear, — 
Sweeter by far, if Thou art near. 

Thou who didst toil with the carpenters' crew, 
Dost Thou delight in fisher-folk, too ? 

All night long I 've toiled and sweat 
Without one fish for my hungry net. 

Nevertheless, at Thy command, 

Out will I launch my boat from land, 

And in the deep I '11 anchor my craft, 

And let down my net for the promised draught. 



Breaketh my net with this wonderful haul ! 
Brother-fishermen must I call. 

[47] 



THE MASTER FISHERMAN 

Oh ! what a foolish fisherman I, , 

Thinking I 'd fail when Thou wast nigh ! 

Master-Fisherman, sailing with me 
Over the waters of Galilee, 

Thou who dost fish with such baited ken, 
Give me Thy net ! I '11 fish for men ! 



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